


soaked

by goodnightpuckbunny



Category: Hockey RPF
Genre: Angst, Blow Jobs, Confessions, Fingering, Friends With Benefits, Hand Jobs, Happy Ending, M/M, Masturbation, Obsession, Premature Ejaculation, Self-Lubrication, Sexual Fantasy, Supernatural Elements, Weird Biology
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-07-25
Updated: 2018-07-25
Packaged: 2019-06-15 23:48:03
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 11,700
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15424332
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/goodnightpuckbunny/pseuds/goodnightpuckbunny
Summary: Zhenya is curious. Now that he’s seen Sid at a vulnerable moment, he can’t get the image out of his mind.





	soaked

**Author's Note:**

> Written for Sid/Geno Heat Wave 2018.

Sid is flat between his legs, except for the mossy thatch of green hair.

“He’s only mostly human,” Seryozha assures Zhenya when he asks the first time, “so it’s normal for him. Maybe don’t stare.”

For a while, Zhenya can’t help but stare. Constantly. He keeps expecting to see the heft of a cock and balls hanging there, but it’s just nothing—like someone had erased it. Sid is thick all over, with wide shoulders and bigger thighs, so it just seems right that Zhenya should be seeing an equally thick flash of flesh. How does Sid pee? How does he fuck?

Zhenya only jerks off once thinking about it. He imagines sliding into whatever slippery secret space Sid has and matting his dark green pubic hair with his release. It makes Zhenya come too fast and he’s so embarrassed about it that he can’t look Sid in the eyes for three days.

But like anything else in North America, Zhenya gets used to it and forgets that it’s odd.   

Sid is weird in other ways. He picks up obsessions and collects knowledge like a scholarly magpie. He remembers facts and figures from all over, and assumes that everybody else does the same. Although he claims to be a student of hockey alone, he also has an enormous affection for historical tidbits. And though he keeps that particular part of himself private, he’s a wealth of information about biology, too.

“It’s not a curse,” Sid explains patiently to a rookie with an itch in his jock. “You would need a lot of focus to place one, and no one wants to think about your junk for that long. How often do you wash your underwear?”

The rookie in question colours. “All the time, dude.”

Sid doesn’t look convinced. “If doing your laundry doesn’t work, try changing your soap.”

Zhenya sits down in the empty stall next to Sid’s. Practice has been done for half an hour, but Sid is still in his base layers, holding office hours. “Go away,” Zhenya says to the rookie. “Captains talk now.”

The kid scampers, and Sid huffs as if he isn’t relieved that Zhenya banished the inconvenience from his presence. He should be more grateful.

“So what if _I’m_ have itchy junk?” Zhenya asks.

Sid looks at him and says, deadpan, “We’ll have to cut it off.”

Zhenya laughs. “You sure it’s not succubus?”

“If it were, it would be throbbing, not itching,” Sid scratches his jaw, “and it’d be mostly internal anyways.”

Zhenya bats his eyelashes, pitches his voice high, like he imagines the call-ups with crushes sound like, “You come check for me, Sid? Make sure?”

Sid shoves him out of the stall and then stands up while Zhenya yelps like he’s really been hurt. “I’m going to take a shower. See you at the party later. It’s at seven, okay?”

“Seven,” Zhenya nods. “Yeah, sure.”

“Not seven-thirty.”

“Yes, got it.”

Zhenya is sure that Sid says seven because the party actually starts at seven-thirty, and so to spite Sid he shows up at quarter-to with a twelve-pack of beer under his arm. The driveway is still empty, but Zhenya parks on the street so he can make a quick getaway when backyard chit-chat inevitably becomes dreadfully boring. He walks up to the house, and finds the front door open a crack. Zhenya invites himself in. He’s been over enough times.

No one seems to be in the house, and when Zhenya goes through to the back, Sid can’t be found out there either. He goes back in to put his case of beer on the kitchen island, and the climbs Sid’s steps to the bedroom. Sid is probably in the shower—or maybe napping. He’s got some secret to surviving social obligations that Zhenya hasn’t figured out yet, and it could definitely be naps.

Sid’s bedroom door is open, and Sid is on the rumpled bed, pants around his ankles, with his dick out.

His _dick_.

It protrudes from the usual place, obscenely curved and thick, a vibrant green at the base fading up to delicate, light pink at the tip. It’s ridged and _pretty_. Sid teases the shaft with the tips of his fingers, sliding up and down gently. He moans softly, but then something clatters downstairs, and Sid snaps his eyes open.

“Geno, what the fuck?” He shrieks, scrambling to sit and roll over and pull his pants back up all at once. “Don’t you _knock?_ ”

Zhenya’s tongue is stuck to the roof of his mouth, but he manages, “Door was open.”

“So you just come in?”

“You say party at seven!” Zhenya argues.

“ _It’s not seven yet!_ ” Sid yells, and then when Zhenya does nothing: “ _Get out!_ ”

Zhenya gets. He stumbles down the stairs and outside into the backyard, and sits on the first surface his ass finds.

Sid does have a cock after all. It’s even more mysterious than the nothingness had been. Zhenya is immediately curious. He wants to touch it and taste it. He doesn’t really understand where Sid’s biology comes from, but the dozen questions he had years ago come bubbling up again: how does Sid fuck?

Other guys start showing up to the house. Zhenya is too preoccupied to do much more than nod in greeting. Within another few minutes—or it could even be hours—Sid comes outside with an enormous platter of vegetables.

He claps his hand on shoulders, and smiles at everyone. He doesn’t have a trace of embarrassment in him now.

“Hey,” he says, when he finally comes to stop in front of Zhenya. Zhenya looks up at him. He’s just regular Sid, and if Zhenya slid a hand into his jeans, there’d just be hair. “Sorry you saw that. I usually keep it hidden.”

Zhenya wonders what it takes to coax Sid’s cock out of his body. Would he have to turn Sid on first? Can he just do it on command? “You see mine all the time.”

Sid ducks his head. “Yeah, I guess so. Fair’s fair, eh?”

If Zhenya slipped out of his chair now, knees aching on the hard cobblestone, with everyone watching, would it be enough to make it happen? He could use his tongue. He could tilt his face up and beg if Sid wanted.

“You alright?” Sid squeezes Zhenya’s shoulder the same friendly way as he’s done to the rest of the guests—the same way he’s done hundreds of times—but a shiver zips up Zhenya’s spine.

He almost has to shake himself to respond. “I’m good,” he says.

“Good,” Sid repeats. “Thanks for the beers in the kitchen.”

Zhenya doesn’t stick around long enough to lose his sense of self and decorum to the fantasies that bubble up unbidden in his mind. If he stays too long, he’s liable to do something irreparably stupid, like try to catch Sid in some quiet, dark corner of his house. He waits until Sid is distracted with tending to turkey burgers on the grill, and then he makes his exit.

He doesn’t remember the drive home.

It’s rare for Zhenya to think about anyone in particular when he jerks off. Usually, he only masturbates to clear the pipes in the morning, quick and efficient in the shower. If he likes someone, if he _wants_ them, he doesn’t hesitate to make his affections known. He can’t do that with Sid, though. It would be a mess. He rarely even indulges in the contemplation of Sid’s body outside of hockey or chirping material.

As soon as he gets to his bedroom, though, and unbuttons his shorts with a sigh, his thoughts are full of Sid.

He palms his hard cock through his underwear and imagines what could have happened instead when Zhenya walked in on Sid. In his fantasy, Sid opens his eyes and groans. _Geno, please_ , he says. _Come here._

Zhenya climbs onto his bed but imagines crawling onto Sid’s, kneeling over him and hovering until Sid says _touch me_. He slips his hand inside his boxers, and thinks about how he would stroke Sid. He’d be tentative at first. Maybe Sid’s cock would feel completely different, or maybe it would feel pretty similar to his own, but the sound Sid made would be the same either way: a choked little keen.

If Sid were to allow him, Zhenya wouldn’t waste any time. He’d lick over the head, and tongue the ridges—get Sid sloppy-wet. Sid would grunt and whine, just softly, like he couldn’t help himself. And then Zhenya would take him deep. He’d take Sid’s cock as far as he could. He’d stuff himself with it and let it overwhelm him until Sid’s hips started to twitch. From one stuttered breath to the next he’d be fucking Zhenya’s mouth, nudging his strange and beautiful dick right into Zhenya’s throat.

Would Sid come so far down that Zhenya wouldn’t be able to taste it? Or would he slide out and paint Zhenya’s lips with his release?

In his room, with his underwear shoved down his legs, Zhenya is trembling.

He wants Sid to kiss his own come from Zhenya’s mouth. He wants Sid to be so spent from Zhenya sucking him that he’s stuck riding Sid’s thick thigh while Sid just lies there and lets Zhenya take what he needs. He thinks about Sid sliding his fingers into Zhenya’s sloppy, sore mouth.

He comes, splattering all over his stomach, imagining Sid slipping those wet fingers down to press against Zhenya’s hole.

—————

Zhenya spends every free second of his days off researching oceanids. He thinks Sid is a quarter oceanid, or maybe only an eighth.  There isn’t much online to read—even less in Russian, and almost all of it unreliable—so Zhenya tries to verify anything he learns by what he knows of Sid.

Oceanids, for example, are said to be superstitious. And that’s Sid up and down, but then, all hockey players are superstitious, so it could be coincidence. He also reads that oceanids are obsessive hoarders. Sid collects, but he doesn’t hoard, unless trivia counts.

There aren’t many pictures of oceanids. The short Wikipedia page in Russian says that they’re extremely diverse, and it’s impossible to tell whether something is an oceanid or some other kind of water creature. Only one picture seems realistic, and that’s the skeleton of an oceanid in an airplane hangar. It spans from one end of the room to the other, skull as big as a zamboni, humanoid except for the fact that the ribs go on and on and on until they taper off, leaving several meters of spine snaked around to fit in the space. There’s a helpful little man-sized silhouette stamped next to it.

Sid is _big_. Zhenya doesn’t always think about it because he’s taller, but Sid is generously wide. He’s built so that everything and everyone else bounces off. Now that he’s fantasizing about Sid all the time, Zhenya dreams of being pinned under Sid’s body.

He isn’t anywhere close to as big as the picture of the oceanid. Maybe Sid is just from a different type.

It would be easy to just ask Sid. Only, every time Zhenya thinks to try, he gets distracted by the subtle swell of Sid’s crotch or, even more embarrassingly, by Sid’s lips.

People had joked that Zhenya must be part _leshy_ , but the Malkins are human. He isn’t half fairy like Flower, or even a sixteenth werewolf like Horny. Like almost every guy on the team, Zhenya’s family tree has no intertwining roots or branches. Americans call it _monogenetic_ , a failed attempt at sterile politeness. The Russian word is worse: чистокровный.

Perhaps it isn’t such a bad thing that Zhenya can’t bring himself to ask Sid any personal questions. He’s likely to shove his foot in his mouth.

Still, Zhenya is curious. Now that he’s seen Sid at a vulnerable moment, he can’t get the image out of his mind.

Other than trying to maintain his regular schedule, Zhenya spends a lot of time jerking off. It’s an idle, simmering kind of pleasure when he has a moment alone. He’ll slouch on his hotel bed, letting his brain go unfocused watching _Wheel of Fortune_ , playing with the inner seam of his sweatpants. Then Sid will float into his thoughts—something he chirped at the other team’s penalty kill, or the way he tapes his sticks for practice—and Zhenya slips his hand below his waistband.

From there, it’s an easy jump to thinking about Sid pinning Zhenya down and making him take _everything_.

—————

Maybe it’s having known each other for years, but Zhenya can tell that Sid is _tired_. Zhenya feels like they’ve been going non-stop for years, and he’s exhausted too—not in the usual, mid-season way, but bone-deep, dragging, and unrelenting.

It could be that Zhenya is just noticing Sid more, now. Most of the time, when Zhenya is staring at Sid in the locker room, thinking, he doesn’t even know he’s doing it until Sid catches him.

Luckily, Zhenya knows a great way to relieve stress.

They’re on the ice for practice, leaning against the boards and watching. Zhenya has to be very, _very_ cautious if he wants this to work.

“You have girlfriend right now?” He asks, his voice carefully light.

“Uh, no,” Sid says, hesitation in his voice like he’s waiting for the chirp.

Zhenya presses on. “Boyfriend?”

Sid’s brows lower. “No,” he says, harder, defensive.

“Okay.” Zhenya skates off.

He catches Sid later on his way to the showers. He’s got a towel held in front of his crotch—unusually polite  for Sid—and Zhenya respects that by keeping eye contact for once.

“You sleep enough last night?” Zhenya asks. “You look—” He gestures under his own eyes where Sid has matching shadows.

Sid’s jaw clenches minutely. “I slept fine. Can I go shower?”

And then, in the parking lot Zhenya asks: “You busy now, before game?”

“If I invite you over, will you just ask me what you want to ask me?” Sid’s shoulders are squared. He doesn’t like his game-day routine fucked with, and maybe Zhenya wasn’t all that delicate with his probing. Still, Zhenya will lose his nerve if he waits until tomorrow.

“Yes,” he says, “see you there.” He hops in his own car and speeds off towards Sid’s place before Sid can uninvite him—though technically he was never invited at all.

He beats Sid there. Sid drives like a responsible grandmother, following all the rules because he doesn’t realize he owns the city and can do whatever the fuck he wants. It means that Zhenya is stuck waiting, trying to figure out the right way to go about it. Should he just come right out and ask? Should he warm Sid up to it? Does he have to deliver a slide presentation with charts of pros and cons? Could he just drop to the ground and beg Sid to use him in any way he wants?

Ultimately, by the time Sid shows up, all he’s decided is that Sid will definitely want to talk about it. It sucks; Zhenya is a man of action, and he’s bad at English.

Sid gets out of his car and sorts through his ridiculous cluster of keys for the one that belongs to the front door. “Do you want a snack?” Sid asks as Zhenya follows him inside.

Zhenya isn’t hungry—his stomach is too tied up in knots for food—but it’ll ease the conversation and he should eat regardless of what happens next. “Sure,” he says. “Chips?” He kicks off his boots and Sid does the same.

“I’ve got some carrots I can cut up,” Sid offers. Zhenya knows his freezer is packed with pizzas, but he never brings those out for guests. Just once, Zhenya would like to be offered the remnants of whatever dessert Sid has sequestered away, or a bowl of cheap macaroni and cheese.  

Sid dumps his keys on his kitchen island, and Zhenya watches as he washes carrots and then quarters them with all the skill of someone who usually eats them directly from a bag. They each eat half, Sid crunching noisily while Zhenya continues to worry about what to say.

“So why are you being so weird?” Sid asks through a mouthful of carrot pulp.

Zhenya swallows. “You tired, I’m tired,” he starts.

“I’m not tired,” Sid says, pointing the last carrot at Zhenya.

Of course, Sid will never admit to physical weakness. He always puts forth some image of an inexhaustible leader, and even Zhenya has rarely seen it falter. “Okay, so it’s just me.”

“Do you need to talk to the trainers?” Sid leans over his forearms on the counter. “It could be your diet or your schedule. Are you on any pre-game meds? Sometimes those can fuck you up.”

“Think it’s just stress,” says Zhenya before Sid can start playing doctor.

“Well there’s lots of sports psychs you can talk to,” Sid offers. “I know, uh, one? Maybe two.”

“No, Sid, I need stress relief.”

“Okay,” Sid says slowly, not making the jump on his own. “Like...you need to book some massages? Or take a healthy scratch?”

“ _No_ ,” Zhenya snaps. “Stress relief with both of us.”

Zhenya watches it click in Sid’s head, the realization blooming over his features only a little faster than the blush rises on his cheeks. “Oh!” Sid says. “Well, Geno, that’s—uh, very, um. It’s nice of you to say, to _offer—”_

“But? You’re single,” Zhenya interrupts.

“I am.”

“Then what, it’s easy for you find hookup?”

“Not exactly,” Sid admits.

“So it’s good idea,” Zhenya says. “I’m not judge, we both relax, and it’s—” he searches for the right word, and comes up with, “convenient.”

“And what about all the ways it’s _not_ convenient?” Sid asks. He folds his arms over his chest, and Zhenya secretly likes it when Sid gets argumentative. He doesn’t share his opinions with many. It’s not the reaction he wants right now, though.

“How’s it not?”

“We could get caught and it could throw the team off balance. We could get distracted from more important things. We could hurt each other,” Sid lists. “We could be incompatible.”

Zhenya smiles because Sid’s last point is the most ridiculous. They definitely have chemistry. “We’re not incompatible.”

“I mean biologically,” Sid says.

“We not know if we don’t try.” Zhenya moves around the kitchen island, slowly, because Sid can be skittish when he needs convincing. He gets all the way into Sid’s personal bubble, close enough to touch. He reaches to palm Sid, to see if his cock has snuck out and made an appearance in his sweatpants, but Sid sucks in a warning breath and Zhenya backs off.

“You can’t just—” Sid stutters, and looks in Zhenya’s eyes for the first time since he suggested stress relief _together_. “Don’t just _grab_ at me, jeez.”

He wouldn’t have expected Sid to need any romancing, but Zhenya doesn’t mind. It’s not just Sid’s weird dick he’s after. And Zhenya likes kissing.

So he does. He holds Sid’s jaw, gently, like he might spook, but then he angles his head down and kisses him. Sid has a _great_ mouth which he gets chirped for all the time. It’s soft and pink and always moving, twisting itself into shapes, but Zhenya is very partial to it.

Zhenya kisses Sid, and Sid kisses back, but there’s no passion there. He pulls away.

“Good?” He asks, searching Sid’s expression, half afraid the answer will be no.

“It’s just—odd,” Sid presses his lips together, “Not bad-odd. Um, just...I’m getting used to it. It’s different.”

Zhenya pushes on Sid’s shoulder so they’re at least facing each other. Then he bends to kiss Sid again.

Sid warms up somewhere in the middle of it, tilting his head up to meet Zhenya halfway. His hands go for Zhenya’s hips, at first resting, and then sliding beneath Zhenya’s t-shirt. And Sid kisses like everything else he does: with all his focus.

“Okay,” Sid says as he breaks away. “That’s good.”

“Yeah?”

“Mm-hm,” and Sid starts pushing him towards the stairs, “bedroom.”

Sid’s bed is made, corners pulled tight enough that Zhenya kind of bounces when Sid shoves him onto it. Then Sid follows him over, straddling Zhenya not with his full weight, but good enough for now. He leans over Zhenya and boxes his head in with his arms, and kisses Zhenya some more. He rocks his hips, and Zhenya can feel the heat of Sid low on his stomach. He shivers with it.

“Better make it quick,” Sid murmurs. “I have to take a nap.”

“Take off your clothes,” Zhenya says. Sid doesn’t, and he doesn’t let Zhenya flip them over, either. Just bears down until Zhenya would really have to struggle to move.

“I like doing this,” Sid says, shifting so he can grind against Zhenya’s hipbone. It feels unusual. There’s pressure, but not like Zhenya would expect from a hard cock.

Zhenya gets two generous handfuls of Sid’s ass, and guides him in tighter circles. “Only want this?”

Sid nods, eyes squeezed shut, and then he tucks his head close to Zhenya’s and gasps in his ear. He keeps going, pressing down, rubbing against Zhenya. He’s using Zhenya’s body, and that’s what he wanted, technically. Maybe if Zhenya had picked a day where neither of them were busy—

And then Sid shudders, and comes with a hitch in his breath.

It’s shocking. They’ve barely been kissing. It’s barely been ten minutes.

“Sorry,” Sid stutters, his weight pinning Zhenya down.

Zhenya just gapes at the ceiling. It’s unfair; he had wanted to literally get into Sid’s pants, and it’s already over. His own dick is only half hard. He manages to pat the swell of Sid’s ass. He senses wetness over the waistband of his pants, and then Sid is pulling up and off him.

“Can I blow you?” Sid’s grey sweatpants are dark with—something. His crotch is _wet_. Is that his come?

“If you want to,” Zhenya offers, too stunned to think of something more reasonable to say.

Sid drags a hand through his hair, across his nose, and then stands with his hands on his hips. He’s trying to be cool when he looks like he’s _pissed_ himself. His face is painfully red. Zhenya doesn’t know where to direct his gaze. “I like sucking—uh. It’s not as messy as handjobs.”

Zhenya’s eyebrows shoot up his forehead. In his experience, blowjobs are _very_ messy. Unless you come so much every time it ruins your pants, he supposes.

“It’s alright with you?”

“Yes,” Zhenya says. “Go ahead.”

Sid kneels on the floor, and Zhenya scoots his pants down over his hips and down his legs. He’s lost his erection out of self-defensive confusion, but Sid doesn’t seem to mind. He moves in and cups Zhenya’s soft cock in his hand, presses a few kisses to it which tickles more than anything, and then starts licking at it. Sid closes his eyes while he mouths at Zhenya’s cock. After a moment, Zhenya’s senses come back to him.

This is _Sid_ , between his legs, his lips on Zhenya’s dick. It’s not the way he expected things to go, but it’s still hot. His cock fills again, and then Sid takes it into his mouth. He sucks gently at first, but then harder. He pulls off to tongue at the crown of it, one hand holding it still, the other rolling Zhenya’s balls.

Zhenya grunts, and Sid smiles, finally opening his eyes. He’s _smirking_ , and Zhenya is overwhelmed with affection, so he sinks his hands into Sid’s hair and pulls his mouth back down onto Zhenya’s shaft.

“Fuck, Sid,” Zhenya curses. He’s trying really hard not to fuck Sid’s mouth, but his hips still twitch when Sid curls and flutters his tongue.

Sid is _good_ at sucking cock.

He takes Zhenya down all the way to the root, and Zhenya feels the head of his dick in Sid’s throat. Zhenya clenches his fists in Sid’s hair, and Sid pushes off him.

“You can come in my mouth,” Sid’s voice is thick, and he coughs once. “I’m going to swallow it one way or another.”

Zhenya nearly comes just at that admission, but Sid goes slow again, licking and kissing until Zhenya backs off from the edge. Then he winds him up again, sucking at the head, then working his way down the shaft. The suction of Sid’s mouth builds in increments. And this time, Sid is watching Zhenya the whole time.

He’s close to bursting again when Sid pulls away, panting. Sid wipes his chin with the collar of his shirt.

“Your dick is pretty big,” Sid says.

“Take your time,” Zhenya replies, hoping that Sid _doesn’t_ , and just makes him come already.

Sid rests his forehead against Zhenya’s stomach, cheek brushing against cock, lying flat against Zhenya. He breathes, and Zhenya’s cock twitches. Zhenya groans.

“Okay,” Sid chuckles, breathless. “Sorry. I’ll stop.”

“Don’t _stop!_ ”

Sid laughs. “No, I mean I’ll keep going.” And then, blessedly, he goes back to work.

His mouth is _great_. It’s slick, and hot, and his tongue is big. Sid abandons technique and just makes himself sloppy, bobbing up and down on Zhenya’s cock. He slides his hands up Zhenya’s thighs to his hips and tugs until Zhenya is carefully, gently thrusting into Sid’s mouth. He makes these encouraging little noises—like he _loves_ it. Like he loves having Zhenya nearly choke him.

He doesn’t pull away this time, and Zhenya makes an embarrassing grunting sound as he spills down Sid’s throat, flopping backwards onto the bed and losing control.

Sid slides off him. He coughs—a gross, gurgling sound—and Zhenya can hear the rustle of fabric.

“Thought you swallow,” Zhenya cracks an eye open and turns his head. Sid is climbing onto the bed next to him, naked; the inside of his thighs are slightly green.

“I _did_ swallow,” Sid snaps, tugging ineffectually at the blankets by the pillows. His hair is a fluffy mess. “Are you going to nap with me, or what?”

Sid has sucked him dry, but Zhenya still feels like a glass brimming with water, each drop from the tap threatening to break the surface tension and spill over the rim.

“Okay,” Zhenya says, and moves up the bed.

—————

After their nap, Sid scores two power-play goals and an even-strength assist. They win the game 5-2, and Zhenya isn’t surprised when Sid comes to him in the lounge on the morning of their next home game before video review. Zhenya is trying to enjoy his second coffee in _peace_ , but he’s been meditating on all the things about Sid in bed, and now here stands Sid in his stupid leggings.

He’s perfected the art of casual somewhere over the years. He used to approach everyone with a kind of hesitant hopefulness. Now he has the sort of plain confidence that Zhenya wants to roll over for.  “You wanna come for lunch?” Sid asks.

Zhenya wants nothing more. “I’m not eat bad game-day pasta,” he says.

Sid’s eyes crinkle at the corners. He loves being chirped. “I’ll put sauce on yours.”

“Oh, from jar? No thanks.”

“No, I had it flown in from Italy,” Sid rolls his eyes. “I usually only give it to special guests, though.”

“I’m special,” Zhenya assures Sid.

“So are you coming?” He’s impatient. Sid’s routines stretch the entire day, which even Zhenya doesn’t know the full extent of. They’re fairly mutable, and parts of it change every season. Probably Sid is itching to make some superstitious appointment. Zhenya wastes his time just a little more.

“I want chicken,” he says. “No turkey or tofu.”

“Geno,” Sid whines. “You can have whatever the fuck you _want_.”

“Oh, anything?” Zhenya raises his eyebrows, but Sid doesn’t take the bait and blush like Zhenya wants him to.

“ _Yes_ , okay? So I’ll see you at my place.” He walks away then and doesn’t let Zhenya tease him anymore.

Zhenya does show up at Sid’s house, though. The weather has taken a turn for the worse, but Sid meets Zhenya in the front entry, unwraps him from his scarf, and warms him with a kiss.

“You let me help this time?” Zhenya asks as he shrugs out of his coat. He drops it onto the bench by the door; Sid picks it up and hangs it on the hook.

“You _are_ helping,” Sid says, fussing with Zhenya’s coat.

“Sid.”

Sid is strange. He wants Zhenya to come over, probably to give him another spine-melting blowjob, but he’s blushing at the mention of reciprocation. Zhenya has _seen_ Sid’s whole—thing. “Fine, but hands only,” Sid sighs, put-upon. “Snack first.”

The selection of food in Sid’s kitchen is better than last time. Sid has a plate of fresh figs, slices of pears, and goat cheese on those tiny toast crackers. Zhenya tucks in and discovers the sweetness of honey on the crackers, while Sid picks distractedly at his half of the snack. The pears are out of season and crunchy.

“You good?” Sid asks him, apparently tired of crushing crumbs with his thumb.

“Pears—”

“Great,” Sid interrupts. He pulls his shirt off. “Let’s do it.”

Zhenya drops his little toast back on the plate and follows Sid. “What’s rush?”

Sid turns around with one foot raised to the stairs. “No rush,” he says, and kisses Zhenya, a quick press of his lips. Then he hooks his fingers into Zhenya’s waistband and pulls him forward. He takes his time, tilting his head and ultimately drawing Zhenya in deeper with a hand cupped over the nape of his neck.

This time, Zhenya makes sure he gets his hand in Sid’s pants. If that’s what Sid wants, then Zhenya is happy to comply. He knows he’s got good hands.

Sid is still flat between his legs, though Zhenya hopes his cock will make an appearance this time. His pubic hair is soft, and Sid sighs into their kiss as Zhenya touches him, but Zhenya can’t find any sort of entrance.

“Come on, up,” Sid says, and Zhenya grudgingly takes his hand away so they can climb the stairs.

Zhenya takes his clothes off, down to his boxers, because he’s not falling asleep half-dressed this time. Sid scoots onto the bed and leans up against the headboard. His thighs fall open.

“I have to be first.”

“Of course,” Zhenya shrugs. It’s no hardship.

He’s not sure how to situate himself. Ultimately, he wants to shoulder between Sid’s legs and put his mouth all over, but Sid said hands only. Instead, he lies down on his side next to Sid, eases Sid’s knee over his hip so he’s turned in towards Zhenya. And he kisses Sid again, because his lips are parted and pink and waiting.

He strokes Sid’s arm, and his thick waist, and then follows the crease of his hip back between his legs. He wonders if Sid, what, _conditions_ his pubes? There’s no time to ponder, though, because this time Zhenya feels a sort of—depression—a slit that wasn’t there before.

Zhenya presses his fingers in, and Sid hisses and jolts back. “ _Easy_ ,” Sid yelps.

“Sorry,” Zhenya murmurs.

He goes back in with just one finger, feather-light, stroking inside slowly. It’s definitely a slit, and there’s nothing inside that could be Sid’s cock. It’s bumpy, and damp. The bumps get smaller and closer together towards the top and center, and where they smooth out completely. He wants to _see_ , but he’s too busy mouthing at Sid’s stubbled jawline. Sid is quaking as Zhenya explores.

“Okay, you can do two,” Sid says after a while. Zhenya does, bringing in another finger, running both over the center and then the edges, stretching Sid slightly. “Yeah, that’s—fuck, Geno.”

Zhenya keeps the pressure light, not sure whether he should be rubbing the bumps or the middle where it’s smooth. “Tell me.”

“Your f—” Sid shudders as Zhenya strokes. He’s opening up and getting slick. “Fingers,” he finishes. “I’m really sensitive but you can—oh! A little more. Give me—that’s it.”

It’s amazing how much more responsive Sid is than the other afternoon. Zhenya is barely touching him, and Sid is coming apart at the seams already. And there’s so much _wetness_. He doesn’t really understand where it’s coming from, but Sid’s slit is slippery with slick. Zhenya’s fingers just glide through it. His whole hand is getting soaked.

Then Sid starts grinding against Zhenya, riding his fingers, rubbing in the same way he had done before—tight circles. He doesn’t bear down as much, but it’s undoubtedly the same movement. So Zhenya saves Sid the trouble and strokes him in the same direction, playing over the bumps. Sid holds on tight, gripping onto Zhenya’s arm, his moans wavering.

Zhenya wants to draw it out, keep Sid on edge for hours if fingering is all he can have, but he knows Sid’s orgasm is right there. He brings Sid over, listening to his cut-short curses and whines.

Sid sags against him when he’s done, breathing out in a heavy sigh. “Nice,” Sid half-gasps.

“Good,” Zhenya says, and now his own erection is coming into focus. He pulls his hand away from between Sid’s legs, and smears all the clinging slick on the hip of his underwear. It’s a little greenish, but is otherwise clear. It’s more sticky than oily or gooey.

“Oh hey,” Sid bats Zhenya’s hand away from readjusting his cock, “let me do that.” Then Sid shimmies down the bed, and proceeds to blow Zhenya’s mind once again with his stupid, clever mouth.

Sid doesn’t score any points that night, but Zhenya gets a hat trick, and that’s that.

—————

They never get together on the road. It’s always at Sid’s house, in Sid’s bed. They eat a snack, then Zhenya fingers Sid, Sid blows Zhenya, they nap, Sid cooks pre-game pasta for both of them, and afterwards Zhenya skips home to change into a suit. Zhenya doesn’t spend _all_ his homestand time with Sid, but surely a noticeable amount of time.

It’s endearing how Sid always seems reluctant to fuck until they get going, but then after Zhenya kisses him and gets him wet, he’s eager as can be.

Sid tells Zhenya in no uncertain terms that the slick his body produces is toxic and Zhenya should never put it in his mouth—or near his eyes for that matter.

“It’s fine on your skin,” Sid lectures, “just wash your hands with soap before you eat.”

“I do anyways,” Zhenya retorts, like they all wouldn’t eat directly off the floor if they were hungry enough after a hard game.

He does taste it anyways, when Sid has his back turned. Just a flicker of his tongue against his hand. It’s not exactly like any sexual fluid Zhenya has ingested before, but it’s mostly salty, and a little sweet. He can’t quite place the sugary undertone, so he licks again—lapping this time because there’s no way it’s _that_ toxic—before Sid turns around again.

After that, he’s privately obsessed with the idea of eating out Sid’s slit, as much as he remains fascinated with Sid’s cock. He wants to lick and lick at the core of Sid until he Sid comes shuddering all over his face. Zhenya wants his jaw to ache and his mouth to be full of slick.

Meanwhile, they maintain a pretty good home record. Zhenya is doing better than Sid, maybe, but he isn’t about to point that out.

Zhenya likes sleeping next to Sid in the early afternoon. He likes Sid’s creative attempts at healthy snacks. He _really_ likes the sounds Sid makes.

He’s not interested in making a change to the routine.

—————

“It’d be easier if you came over now,” Sid insists over the phone.

They have a Sunday matinee the next day, and no morning skate. “I still nap for day-game,” Zhenya says. He’d love to spend the night at Sid’s, but he doesn’t want to have to eat Sid’s plain spaghetti at ten in the morning. He usually picks up pancakes on days like these.

“So you nap, and I’ll do my thing,” says Sid. “I still need to suck your dick.”

Zhenya goes hot all over.

“And I need your hands,” Sid continues. He draws in a shaky breath, playing dirty. “I need you.”

He doesn’t get to Sid’s place for another hour, suit bag in hand, and Sid doesn’t greet him with a kiss at the door for once. It’s late, and dark, and Sid already has most of the lights turned out. He hangs up Zhenya’s coat.

“You can stay in the guest room,” offers Sid as he flips off the entry light, too.

Fuck that. “You talk so sweet on the phone, Sid.”

Sid blushes—or Zhenya assumes he does. They’re standing in the darkness and Zhenya can only see Sid backlit by the hall light, a fuzzy halo around his head. “We only do this for the game. It’s a superstition.”

“So why you invite me now?” Zhenya asks. “Can come in morning, sleep in own bed tonight.” He just wants Sid to say it, that he likes it when Zhenya comes over and fingers his slit and makes him writhe. He wants Sid to want _him_.

He kisses Sid instead of waiting for a bullshit answer. And gratifyingly, Sid melts against him, pulling Zhenya in and down. Zhenya can never quite decide his favourite thing about Sid, but kissing him is high up on the list.

“Fine, we’ll sleep in my bed,” Sid says, as if he’s inconvenienced by it.

Zhenya happily follows Sid up the stairs. He yanks at the bedspread at the far side, tugging out the perfect corners from their perfect tuck, kicks off his pants, and slides in the bed. It’s cold in Sid’s house, so Zhenya pulls the duvet up to his chin, and then rolls onto his stomach.

“Wait,” Sid pauses with one hand pulling down his underwear, “we’re not gonna do anything?”

“You say it’s for hockey,” Zhenya grins at him. “Okay, no problem.”

Sid huffs, but he won’t admit he actually invited Zhenya over for sex. He pulls away his own half of the covers and sits on the bed. “Fine.”

“Don’t stop for me. Touch yourself.” Zhenya needs to take notes anyways. Sid is always forthcoming with what he’s enjoying in the moment—always moaning out encouragement—but he’s shy with telling Zhenya exactly what he wants.

“I’m not going to jerk off in front of you, Geno,” Sid rolls his eyes.

“Why not? I’m see before.” And then Zhenya had rearranged his whole pre-game to accommodate his obsession with it.

“Because it’s—” Sid stutters.

“You need my hands?”

“You can’t _watch_ me.”

“Can,” Zhenya argues, and rolls onto his side, propping his head up on one hand.

“That’s not what I meant.”

“You sleep better,” Zhenya insists. “Please, Sid. I want to see.”

Sid is so easy for Zhenya, and he wonders when that happened. He makes a big show of taking off his underwear now, makes it seem like it’s a pain in the ass, but he still does it.

Zhenya wants to pillow his head on Sid’s big thigh, brush his fingers through Sid’s dark green hair and slip inside the slit, but he tucks his free hand away and uses his eyes instead. Sid gets his slit to open up much quicker than Zhenya could, except Zhenya can see the shine between his legs—Sid is already wet and ready. He wonders if it was the kiss at the door, or the phone call, or if Sid has been turned on all day thinking about asking Zhenya to come over.

“Look wet,” Zhenya comments. He cups his own dick in his sweatpants.

“Shut the fuck up,” Sid snaps. “If you talk, I’ll come.”

“That true?”

“Yes,” Sid grunts, and drags his hand away from his slit, up towards his stomach. “Are you going to watch, or what?”

Zhenya can be good; he shuts up.

Sid handles himself so gently. He does usually reach orgasm within minutes, almost immediately after Zhenya gets him dripping with slick, and he’s nearly there already. He keeps rubbing himself down the center, which Zhenya thought wasn’t a particularly sensitive place. When Zhenya’s hands are doing the work, he usually goes for the bumpy outer edges.

He’s here to observe, though, so he leans in and watches as Sid strokes down over the place where there are no bumps at all at the smooth middle. It’s a darker green than the rest of the inside of Sid’s slit, and deeper.

Then after two minutes, or maybe five, something truly beautiful happens. The center of Sid’s slit parts and shows a little flash of light pink. Zhenya could weep because there it is, _finally_ : Sid’s cock.

It nudges out slowly. Sid doesn’t touch it, just lets his fingers rest inside his slit. He’s breathing heavily and uneven, like he’s actually pushing his cock out of hiding. Soon, it begins arching upwards, elongating. It’s shiny, and—tender, Zhenya thinks. It looks tender.

When it’s finally extended, it's shorter than Zhenya’s, and not especially thick. But then Sid touches it the same way he had done months ago when Zhenya walked in on him, and it blooms.

Zhenya had thought that Sid’s dick had ridges; it’s more like overlapping leaves. Sid trails his fingers up the underside. It’s mesmerizing to watch.

He has plenty of time to enjoy seeing Sid get off, because Sid keeps teasing himself. He wonders how often Sid does this, if it’s a treat or if Sid always needs to touch himself to fall asleep. Zhenya’s thought of having Sid’s cock inside him—in his mouth or in his ass—it's enough that Zhenya has to shove his hand into his sweatpants and stroke himself. He needs to chase that subtle sweetness of Sid’s slick, but the more Sid touches, the thicker his cock swells, and Zhenya wants it in him, overwhelming him.

“Sid,” he whispers.

“Shh,” Sid hisses. Zhenya wants to touch him so much.

“Can I do? Touch?”

Sid throws his head back against the headboard with a quiet _thunk_. “Cut it out,” Sid insists, but Zhenya sees the trickle of slick escape from between the throbbing edges of Sid’s cock.

“You let me touch and I be quiet,” Zhenya says.

Sid whines, but lifts his hand, making space for Zhenya.

Zhenya touches Sid in just the same way, soft strokes up the shaft. It feels a bit slippery, soft and cool. The little leaf-shaped bits would have give if Zhenya pressed on them, but he keeps his movements slow and light. Sid shudders, and more slick runs down.

“Tip—it’s sensitive?” Zhenya asks.

Sid moans. “You said you wouldn’t talk.”

“Just want to know,” Zhenya says, and brushes experimentally over the crown. It doesn’t seem to be more or less sensitive than the rest.

“It’s weird.” Sid thighs twitch when Zhenya uses the join between his thumb and forefinger to tease him instead. Sid delights him by starting to thrust up against his hand. “You shouldn’t be seeing this. It’s—”

“Secret?”

“ _Sacred_ ,” Sid corrects, and Zhenya doesn’t know what that means, but it sure seems embarrassing for Sid. He sighs. “God, I’m so close.”

Zhenya hums encouragingly. The slick is starting to run down the back of his hand.

“You can squeeze,” Sid instructs. “Not too hard, but just—” Zhenya closes his fist around Sid, with barely any pressure, “—yeah, perfect.”

He slides up and down Sid like he would do to himself if he was trying to hold off, but for Sid it’s like Zhenya is chasing him to the finish line. Sid groans and whines and thrusts into Zhenya’s soft grip. There’s so much slick coming out from the sides of his shaft, slightly green, and a bit fragrant. Zhenya can’t place the scent, but it’s a lot like the sweet taste.

“Sid,” Zhenya murmurs. He doesn’t think Sid hears him, too lost to his own pleasure, so Zhenya continues in Russian. “I want you inside me—such a thick, pretty cock. You’re doing so well; you’re so beautiful. Come on, let go.”

Sid grunts and gasps like he’s hurt, and then he wraps his hand around Zhenya’s and _squeezes_ , from the base to the top. He wails and the slick pours from his cock, wetness going everywhere.

“That’s good.” Zhenya leans over and kisses Sid’s forehead, their hands trapped between their bodies.

It seems like Sid keeps coming and coming, his grip still tight and forcing slick out, drenching his slit, his hips, his thighs, and running off onto the sheets. The scent of it is heady, and Zhenya keeps his head up by Sid’s, watching and listening.

Sid is exhausted when he finally collapses, going from taught to loose, sliding down into the bed. “ _Fuck_ ,” he says, and then giggles. “Fuck _me_.”

“Maybe tomorrow,” Zhenya offers, leaning over Sid to turn off the bedside lamp.

“Tomorrow’s game day,” Sid replies, voice going sleepy. “We can shower in the morning, okay?”

His words trail off in the middle of his sentence, and Zhenya knows he’s fallen asleep. Zhenya’s heart clenches dangerously. Instead of examine that, he lifts his hand to his face. He can feel slick down to his wrist, and Sid won’t know.

He lies on his back and shoves his clean hand down his pants to grip his dick. He’s hard and hot as hell. He strips his cock and licks all the slick off his hand, trying not to moan. It’s delicious on his tongue, and he comes with three fingers shoved into his mouth.

—————

In general, Sid doesn’t want Zhenya touching his dick. He’s too embarrassed to even talk about it over breakfast the next morning, which would normally suit Zhenya fine, but he wants to have all of Sid’s peculiarities spread out like a sexy buffet.

What he can glean from his own observations is that Sid can come many different ways, always producing a lot of slick, and that he’s always very sensitive. If he’s not careful, he’ll come too soon. Zhenya doesn’t have the patience to draw it out, and neither does Sid.

His slick dries green but washes away easily. When Sid lets Zhenya finger his slit, he genuinely cannot find the hole that Sid’s cock releases from. For that matter, Zhenya doesn’t see Sid’s cock for a long time.

It doesn’t stop Zhenya from thinking about it, though. His curiosity is nowhere close to being satisfied.

—————

Spring has been threatening all morning, but ultimately gives up to a wet, heavy snow. Zhenya pretends he doesn’t want to drive in the storm so he can stay longer at Sid’s house. They’re at the end of a three-day break, it’s a slushy grey outside, and they’re both spread out on Sid’s tiered couches in his media room. There’s a game playing on the TV, but neither are really watching, sluggish as they are after a heavy lunch.

Zhenya is horny in the low-grade way he is all the time now. He figures getting a blowjob nearly every other day is the cause of that. Part of him wants to crawl between Sid’s parted thighs, but part of him is still content to lounge and not move.

He’s enjoying looking at Sid, though. Sid, in a grey t-shirt with a hole in the collar, and a rough, scraggly semblance of a beard—casually masculine. Zhenya could feed him chocolate icing one fingerful at a time, watching his eyes become heavy and his gaze more languid. He could ride Zhenya’s face or tie him to the bed. Zhenya has dreams about winning the Hart, and throwing out Sid’s jockstrap, and kissing the Cup every year until he dies, and moving into Sid’s house full-time.

Zhenya’s feelings for Sid have always been complicated. When he was younger, after being briefly peeved that Sid was a year younger than him and yet so much better at hockey—a few weeks of idiotic confusion—Zhenya had felt fascination and anticipation when he looked at Sid. He had known that Sid was going to do amazing things. Zhenya pushed himself because _Sid_ did; he wanted to be worthy of sharing Sid’s successes.

Over years and years, he got to know Sid better. Sid was handsome, but ridiculous. Zhenya had been fascinated, then at times perturbed, and in the end warmly affectionate towards him. He was a constant guiding light for everyone around him through his dedication to hockey. His weirdness, his obsessions, his intuition always covered for Zhenya. There’s nothing he wants more than to back Sid up for the rest of his career.

And of course, he loves Sid—although Zhenya loves a lot of things.

He hadn’t put much thought into the shade and texture of what he doted on Sid until now. Has he been showing it enough? Zhenya thinks maybe not. His emotions were always wild and forceful as a hurricane, but does Sid _know_? Or has Zhenya been holding back?

Sid catches him looking. “Geno,” he says, his tone reproachful and fond all at once.

Zhenya raises his eyebrows. “You want to?”

“It’s not game day.” He’s absolutely transparent, his knees falling apart.

“Not stop you before,” Zhenya says. “I miss your dick.”

Sid goes red, but he’s in a generous mood. “It’s not like it just pops out on its own. I have to get wet first.”

Zhenya sits up straight. Sid never offers any information about his own anatomy. “I can help,” he says. “Use mouth?”

“Hmm,” Sid stretches and his shirt rides up. Zhenya wants to bite him there. “I don’t think it works like that.”

“No harm in try.”

Sid stares at him. Zhenya can practically hear the gears turning. “Alright, fine,” Sid unbuttons his jeans and pulls down the zipper, “as long as it’s only for a little while.”

Zhenya moves to Sid, kneeling on the couch tier below him, and helps him pull off his jeans. He knows he looks eager, but it doesn’t matter. He pulls Sid’s hips to the edge of his seat and leans in. Sid doesn’t smell like the usual sweetness, just the vague funk of sweat; Zhenya laps between Sid’s legs, tongue finding the crease of his groin, and tastes only salt.

“Shit,” Sid sucks in a breath. “Okay hold on—” He adjusts, spreading his legs farther and leaning back so his crotch is easier for Zhenya to reach.

He mouths at the gentle swell, and the mossy hair that covers Sid’s slit, and Zhenya mostly gets nothing. Sid makes humming, happy, lazy sounds, but there isn’t anything happening. He takes his time, getting Sid’s pubic hair messy with spit, and Zhenya knows he can be patient. They have the whole afternoon, at least. He’ll wait as long as it takes to have Sid’s cock in his throat; _Sid_ is the one who will selfishly chase his own orgasm and get off in seconds.

Zhenya tries rubbing his thumb beneath where the slit will appear. When that doesn’t work, Zhenya touches the softness of Sid’s inner thigh, trailing his fingers over it. With his other hand, he undoes his own pants and pushes his hand inside. He’s not too hard yet, but kneeling as he is, there’s no room in his jeans and he needs to relieve the pressure.

After several minutes of trailing his tongue through Sid’s pubes, finally his slit opens. Zhenya nearly shoves his tongue inside, but instead he carefully presses with the tip of it.

Sid moans as Zhenya licks around the outer edge of his slit, and slowly he opens up more and more. Before long, Sid slides his hand over the back of Zhenya’s neck and presses there. Zhenya receives the message.

It’s too much for his brain to decide what he wants more—Sid to get wet or to have an erection—so Zhenya just does what feels good. He mostly licks at the dark center of Sid’s slit where it’s smooth. His chin rubs accidentally against the lower part where the bumps are biggest and perhaps the most sensitive. Once in a while, he licks the bumps too, gathering the sweet taste of Sid on his tongue.

“ _God_ ,” Sid gasps. He rubs Zhenya’s nape, thumb digging into the muscle.

It’s nearly meditative to keep running his tongue over the textures inside Sid’s slit. He feels so connected, practically floating in his adoration for Sid. His thoughts become muted and soft. There’s salt in his mouth and sweetness rolling all through him. It’s practically addicting. One day, Zhenya is going to make Sid come so many times that the slick will be all over Sid’s thighs and Zhenya’s neck. The thought of Sid actually _asking_ for it makes Zhenya moan.

“Geno,” Sid pulls Zhenya’s hair, sharp little tugs to the light, fine ones at his nape. “That’s enough, G.”

Zhenya is in no mood to stop. He’d spend the rest of his days here, right between Sid’s legs.

“Come on, you’re going to get sick,” Sid insists.

He presses against the smooth middle—more firm than Sid would usually want—but he’s rewarded when the second slit parts against his tongue. Sid starts to shake, so Zhenya squeezes his hips and holds him still. Then he gently licks inside with just the tip of his tongue, feeling a pulse for a fleeting moment, and Sid yells his name.

Zhenya sits back on his heels; he doesn’t want Sid to come yet and his end-goal hasn’t changed yet. He watches Sid’s chest heave and his cock emerge, and Zhenya licks his lips clean as he waits.

His body is loose and relaxed. He hasn’t felt this fantastic without drinking or pain medication or a good orgasm since the summer.

“Ugh, _fuck_ ,” Sid complains, his head tilted back.

Zhenya’s hand is still in his own pants, but he’s not really touching himself anymore. It’s not the way he wants to get off. “You fuck me?” He asks Sid.

Sid groans and his cock pushes out of its slit another centimeter, so Zhenya takes it as agreement for now. He takes off his shirt, tosses it, and then shoves down his pants and boxers, which are mostly ruined anyways. And then Sid’s mouth is irresistible, open and deep pink, so Zhenya climbs into his lap and kisses him.

He ends up on his back, eager to go where Sid moves him, with Sid’s wide waist between his thighs. He feels _empty_.

Zhenya lets Sid suck on his neck and writhe against him. He’s both contented and desperate—floating too high above his own head to do anything but hope that Sid will shove his cock into Zhenya’s hole and bloom inside of him. He wants to be fucked to the brim, stretched full. And he’d say as much, but his tongue has gone heavy and thick in his mouth. All he can do is cling with his arms locked around Sid’s shoulders.

Sid’s cock brushes against the inside of Zhenya’s thighs, smearing just a little slick. He leans into Zhenya, his weight pressing Zhenya into place, and rocks against him. It’s just light passes at first, his cock leaving trails of liquid on Zhenya’s skin, but then he works his hips more firmly, dragging wetness all over. He worries the same spot of Zhenya’s neck, over and over, and soaks his groin.

He’s about to tell Sid to come inside him, but Sid is too lost to his pleasure. He bites down on a whine and comes, rivers of slick going everywhere.

Zhenya yelps at the pain at his neck and the sensation of being wet so thoroughly. Sid shudders on top of him. Fuck. _Fuck_.

Sid rolls off when he’s wrung himself out. His eyes are closed, about to fall into a nap, which is probably for the better, because Zhenya is hard and hurt and _aching_ , and so frustrated that he feels choked up. He’s glad Sid won’t see the tears in his eyes.

He wipes at his wet thighs as Sid drifts off. There’s so much that it webs between his fingers. Sid is so damn _selfish_ , just taking what he wants all the time; Zhenya’s head is swimming, lost between disappointment and desire. So he takes matters into his own hands, spreading Sid’s slick onto his own sore, red cock.

He doesn’t have to fantasize. Sid is right there next to him, breathing slow, his pink and lovely dick sinking back into its hiding place. He’s built for power and speed and balance, but in sleep he’s vulnerable, and his pretty mouth is swollen from kissing and leaving his mark on Zhenya’s neck. Zhenya gathers more slick in his other hand and brings it up to lick, sucking on his own fingers greedily, comforting himself with the taste.

It’s maybe five or eight minutes before Sid finally stirs. Zhenya is fucking his hips up to meet his fist, and Sid blinks awake. He looks over at Zhenya, who has his fingers in his mouth.

“Shit, Geno,” says Sid, pushing up to sitting. “Sorry. I’m sorry.”

Zhenya doesn’t say anything because he doesn’t trust himself to say the right thing. Sid crawls over him, sits in his usual blowjob position, and now Zhenya does cry, hot and stinging tears that he can’t stop.

“I’ll make it up to you. Here,” Sid hefts Zhenya’s legs, and he lets himself be moved. “Put your legs on my shoulders.”

“Sid,” Zhenya whimpers.

“Look at you,” Sid touches the slick that remains, almost reverent. “You’re a mess.”

Zhenya turns his head away. “You’re make me like this.”

“Sorry,” Sid says again. When Zhenya looks back, he can’t read Sid’s expression.

Sid slides down onto his stomach until his shoulders are under the backs of Zhenya’s thighs. He bends his head and takes the crown of Zhenya’s cock into his mouth. He tongues at the slit for a while, and then slides down, bobbing his head. Zhenya prepares for Sid’s usual brand of torture—bringing him to the edge over and over until he tumbles over with barely any help at all—but it seems that Sid isn’t trying to drive him crazy this time.

His sucking pulls of Zhenya’s cock are even, with just the right amount of pressure.

“Do you mind if I play with your ass?” Sid asks, and then goes back to sucking when Zhenya shakes his head.

He’s very gentle, to the point it almost tickles, but Sid pushes a finger between Zhenya’s cheeks and strokes over his hole once. Then he does the same thing again a moment later with something wet.

It’s Sid’s slick, Zhenya realizes. He rubs it in, and keeps coming back with more until he can glide his finger inside. Zhenya moans helplessly, the counterpoint of sensations driving his impending orgasm. He may not get everything he wants, but he can compromise; Sid takes care of him no matter what.

Sid sucks just a little bit harder, presses another finger inside and rubs at Zhenya’s rim with his thumb. He has no leverage with his legs up like this, can’t thrust or pull away—only take what Sid gives him. Then his cock edges that much further into Sid’s mouth, the crown squeezing into Sid’s throat. Everything is so intense at once, bursting through the fog in Zhenya’s brain, and Zhenya finally tips over.

He come so hard that even the tip of his tongue tingles.

It takes a while to come down. Sid suckles him through the aftershocks until Zhenya whines at him to stop, and then Sid eases out from under him.

Zhenya is fucking exhausted.

“I’m sorry,” Sid repeats. “I shouldn’t have fallen asleep on you.”

“You do always,” Zhenya says, trying to keep the hurt from his voice.

“Yeah, but that’s right before we take a nap.”

Zhenya sighs. He sits up and makes eye contact with Sid. His stomach is quivering, unrelated to the sex they just had, he thinks. “You don’t have to give blowjob every time,” he says.

Sid squints and says, “It’s only polite.”

“No,” and bless Sid for being so genuine, but curse him for always forgetting to read between the lines with Zhenya, “you can do other things sometimes. Like fuck me,” he adds.

Sid goes absolutely crimson.

“It’s okay. I do with other men before,” Zhenya offers. “I like it.”

“It isn’t part of our routine,” Sid says, “but if you think it’d work _better_ —”

“Not about routine,” Zhenya snaps. He wishes sometimes that Sid weren’t so stuck in his rut of hockey and the bizzare fucking obsession-based identity he’s boxed himself into.

“We’re doing this because it helps us play better.” Sid says this slowly, like he’s explaining a science concept to a child, but Zhenya has been a scientist of Sid for years, and he doesn’t need to be condescended to.

“ _You_ do for routine.” He’s got to get out of here before he says something truly stupid in his anger. He’s got to leave before he ruins what precious little they have.

He gets up and hunts for his shirt, and Sid is silent. When he finds it, crumpled on the floor halfway across the room, he looks back at Sid who is—thinking, probably. Zhenya knows he’s in dangerous territory. Sid remains willfully ignorant of many things, and it’s for the better.

“I don’t get it,” Sid finally admits.

Of course he doesn’t. Zhenya snatches his pants next, coming back over to Sid because he can’t leave the house without them. “This has different meaning for me than you, okay? For me it’s—more.”

“What do you mean? Geno, this means a lot to me, okay?”

Sid’s expression is soft, but Zhenya knows this look well. It’s the one he uses for teammates. He has no clue how Sid looks at people he’s in love with. “I don’t do this just for hockey,” Zhenya bites. “I don’t want just same handjob, same blow job, same kisses, same meal. When we spend off day together, just spend time with you, maybe try something new, when you look at me like you read my mind—that’s what I want. I want more of _that_.”

He doesn’t say _I love you_. He doesn’t ask for a room in Sid’s heart. This thing they have was never going anywhere, and he knows that Sid is about to break him.

Sid opens and closes his mouth a few times, face flickering through a few emotions, but always giving way to confusion. Eventually, predictably, Sid settles on the safest path. “We should probably stop,” Sid says.

Zhenya rolls his eyes, trying not to cry for the second time. “Okay, fine. Game tomorrow.” He’ll come over and get Sid off as fast as he can. It’ll take two minutes tops, and then he can try to beg off the rest of it.

“Yeah.” And then Sid adds very carefully: “I’ll see you at the rink.”

It hits Zhenya like a slap in the face. Sid is abandoning their arrangement completely. He’d rather not see Zhenya at all. He feels himself shrinking inside, going cold and small and dark. He shouldn’t have said anything—his head just feels weird.

“Whatever,” Zhenya says. He gets the fuck out of Sid’s house.

—————

Sid’s bite leaves an impressive ring of little bruises on Zhenya’s neck, which stings when he pokes at it in the mirror. The guys in the room are gracious enough to say nothing about it, but the look Sid gives him—shocked and guilty—well, Zhenya has no time for that shit. He puts on his gear and plays his fucking game.

For a week, he’s wounded about the whole thing. Then he’s irritated with himself.

He had been going about it entirely the wrong way, and it was Zhenya’s fault for not realizing it earlier.

Zhenya is a fucking romantic. He likes to dote on the people he’s interested in—gifts, time, attention, affection. Everybody knows that about him. _Sid_ knows that about him. Of course Sid thought he was really just in it for the sex.

He’s an idiot for not treating Sid in the way that he does people he’s in love with, but he’s mostly an idiot for not realizing he was in love in the first place.

After another week, he gets over it. He can admit to himself that the whole thing was ridiculous. He started sleeping with Sid because he wanted his _dick_ , and then fell in love later. Zhenya is a bad romance novel. It’s not worth brooding over. In any case, Sid is first and foremost his friend. Zhenya cares about that far more than the rest of it.

When he jerks off, he keeps his mind carefully blank. He swears off sweet desserts and fruits for the time being, because he keeps comparing it to the way Sid tastes. He goes back to his old pre-game and relishes the opportunity to sprawl in his own bed.

He only talks to Sid about hockey, which he reasons is what Sid wants anyways. He declines Sid’s offer for a friendly dinner out, and a friendly _lunch_ out, even though he knows that it’s childish. Still, they clinch the playoffs without sleeping together. They lose to the Capitals without it, too.

Zhenya feels like dogshit for a couple of days. He sleeps a lot, drinks the last third of a bottle of whiskey in his liquor cabinet, obsesses over every shift on the ice, and doesn’t shower. Then he moves on. Hockey is cyclical—they can try again next year. He isn’t done yet.

He goes back and forth with carrying out his summer plans as he packs up his house. It’d be nice to go to Miami, to sun himself in a place that doesn’t give a fuck about winter sports. On the other hand, he took his parents to the airport right after locker cleanout, and he wants to spend more time with them. He’s looking for his damn house slippers to put in his suitcase when the doorbell rings.

It’s Sid, of course. He’s clean-shaven and in one of his nicer shirts. Zhenya sighs and lets him in.

Sid accepts a seat in the kitchen and a glass of water, but he doesn’t drink it. He remains silent for long enough that Zhenya considers going back to what he was doing, but then Sid says, “I came to apologize.”

Zhenya is _sick_ of Sid saying he’s sorry.

But Sid presses on, ignoring Zhenya’s scowl. “I should have been more open with you about all the—stuff. About my, uh, body. And everything else, too.”

“Okay, thanks,” Zhenya says. “See you in fall.”

He moves to stand, Sid catches Zhenya’s wrist. “No, hold on. Let me explain.”

Zhenya sits, because they’re friends, and Sid lets go only to stare at his hands folded together on the table. “I didn’t want to get too involved,” Sid mumbles.

Of all the stupid things to say—they were the very definition of involved. But Zhenya will bite, because the sooner Sid gets this talking out of his system, the sooner Zhenya can leave Pittsburgh. “Why?”

“Because I didn’t want to get hurt when you decided you were done experimenting or whatever,” says Sid.

“It’s not experiment for me.”

Sid looks up, eyebrows raised.

“Only because I’m learning!” Zhenya defends. He _still_ doesn’t know how the fuck Sid works down there.

“It isn’t something I should be sharing. You know how I get kind of sticky?” Sid asks, and Zhenya nods. “It’s supposed to go in the water as a sacrifice because it’s good for the ocean’s ecosystem. I’m not supposed to be sharing it with anybody.”

Zhenya almost rolls his eyes. “Okay, good to know.”

“I _wanted_ to share it with you, though,” Sid presses on. “The other thing is that sometimes it’s for mating. That’s why I didn’t want any of it to get inside you without you knowing.”

“I take anyways,” Zhenya crosses his arms.

“Yeah, I know you did,” Sid says. “I could smell it on you—how bad you wanted it. That’s the thing, Geno. It _makes_ you want me.”  

That’s where Sid’s wrong. Zhenya thinks all the way back to the beginning. “I already want. Don’t need your cock to fall in love.”

Sid’s ears go pink. “Love?”

“Yes,” Zhenya’s jaw clenches. He won’t hear Sid argue with him about this.

“Uh, when?” Sid asks.

“Don’t know,” Zhenya admits. “Feels like brand new every day.” It’s weird, as far as confessions go, to admit that a man’s pheromone-laden spunk isn’t what’s earned your affections, but Sid’s face goes all shiny and happy.

“Well,” Sid says, “me too.”

Sid reaches across the table, and takes Zhenya’s hand in his. For the first time in months, Zhenya feels his heart ease in his chest. Sid picks up his glass of water and drinks it all at once, doing a poor job of hiding his expression.

Zhenya still has a lot of shit to work through. They both do, and he says as much. “Maybe need break.”

“It’s the summer,” Sid offers. “We can discuss it when we come back.”

“Long time,” Zhenya says.

“Yeah, well let’s make a short summer next year, then. Anyways,” he clears his throat and lets go of Zhenya’s hand. It’s a lot of emotions for Sid to deal with at one time, so Zhenya forgives him. “I have some stuff I gotta take care of. I didn’t want to stay too long.”

“Okay,” Zhenya says, and walks Sid to the door.

Sid stuffs his feet into his shoes, and Zhenya feels wistful already. “Better kiss me before I go.”

“Just one?”

Sid nods. “Make it a good one.”

It’s a very sweet kiss, and it lingers all summer.

**Author's Note:**

> A porn-without-plot fic that turned into porn-with-some-plot-and-feelings. 
> 
> And a _HUGE_ thank you to my friends who support me writing all this filthy fic.


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